


The Last of the Apple Pie

by Maidenjedi



Category: The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a diner in South Dakota, a woman serves some pie to a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of the Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne/gifts).



> Set during the outbreak. OCs.

_June 30, 1990_

Alice Gunderson’s feet ached something awful, and she felt a bit stuffy and scratchy. No wonder, too, with all the customers that came in sniffling throughout the day. She checked the coffee and found it cold; she put on another pot. The diner was open all night and she would get to leave soon when Ruby Jean arrived, but feeling bad and ready to go home was no reason to leave Ruby Jean all the work.

She counted out the change for Amos Johannson and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand while she had her back turned. 

“There you are, Amos. Fifty-six cents. You goin’ home?”

Amos nodded, clearly done in and ready for a nap himself. “Ya, that’s the plan. Been a heck of a day.” Alice felt a bit sorry for him and usually gave him his pie on the house. She’d wrapped up the last of the blueberry tonight, and handed it to him with a smile.

“Hey, thanks, Alice, much obliged.” With that the cop tipped two fingers off his hat to Alice and left, stifling a cough as he walked out. Alice shook her head. Amos was in his sixties, and worked longer hours than she did. Even in their sleepy town, that was a lot of work. At his age, a cough could put him down for days.

She sneezed, used her apron to wipe her nose, and turned to start cleaning the counter. 

The bell chimed as another customer opened the door, and Alice heaved a sigh. The regulars were done for the day with Amos out the door, and Alice turned to find a young-ish man with long hair, wearing a denim jacket. 

“Hiya, ma’am. Could I trouble you for a piece of pie and a cup o’ joe?”

Alice felt cold spread from the roots of her hair down her neck and her spine. Her fingers stiffened.

The stranger smiled. Alice shivered.

“Just a piece? Apple, if you have it.”

Alice nodded, and cleared her throat. She was going to need Tylenol for sure, if she was getting chills. “Sure do. Be just a moment. Want it heated?”

He kept on smiling. “Nah, room temperature’s just fine.”

She went to get the pie out of the case, and poured the man a cup from the fresh pot she’d put on.

“D’ya mind turning up the television? Looks like there’s somethin’ goin’ on.”

She’d had it on the NBC channel out of Sioux Falls, and sure enough, there was Ellie Andersen, the evening anchor, reading off a report in a stiff, high-pitched voice. A “Special Report – Flu Outbreak” graphic embellished the screen. Alice turned it up, and Ellie’s voice was piercing.

“State officials will not verify whether this is the same strain of flu from reported outbreaks in east Texas, parts of Arkansas and throughout the southeast. Individuals suffering from flu-like symptoms are urged to stay home, drink plenty of fluids, and take aspirin as needed.”

Ellie smiled, and Alice thought it looked strained. Her co-anchor sneezed off-camera before leading into a national story about a heat wave back east.

_The flu is going around?_ thought Alice. She frowned, ignoring the tickle in her nose for a moment. _Sure hope Amos Johannson didn’t catch it_. She wiped her nose. 

Behind Alice, there came a soft chuckle. Alice shook her head, and turned to see what was so amusing. The stranger lifted a forkful of pie. “This is delicious, ma’am, just the thing I needed.”

She stuffed her cold hands in her apron pockets. “Lemme know when you want the bill.”

“Oh, I’ll just pay now. Time I was on my way.”

She took out her pad and scribbled the total. “Two dollars and fifty cents.”

“Well, now, how’s this then?” He finished his pie in another forkful, and reached in his jacket pocket. He dropped a ten on the counter. “No change. That was a damned fine pie.” He picked up the coffee mug and drank the last of the coffee down. “And damned fine coffee.”

She made a face to argue with him, and he waved her off. “Just pass it on to the next person, that’s all I ask. Say, you feelin’ alright?”

The flush on her face must be obvious, she thought. And her headache was suddenly quite a bit worse. “Oh, I’m peachy, as they say. You got far to go tonight?”

“Not far tonight, no. But I am headed west in a few days.”

She nodded, fighting the chill. “Awful hot in the desert this time of year.”

“Awful hot. But I’ll be fine. Just peachy, in fact.” He grinned at her again, and tipped his fingers off an imaginary hat in perfect imitation of Amos Johannson. “You have a good one now.”

Alice didn’t return the sentiment but waved a little, and turned to finish closing out her shift. Ruby Jean came in as the stranger pushed out the door. She was breathless and flushed and mumbled something about thinking she had a cold. 

“Yeah, I think it’s going around,” said Alice. She coughed into her hand and thought again about hot tea and a couple of Tylenol.

She told Ruby Jean about the day, about selling clean out of cherry pie and having another blueberry in back if anyone asked. They talked about the supposed flu outbreak and both laughed it off, while hiding runny noses and red eyes from one another. Alice cleaned the countertop one more time and admonished Ruby Jean to wash her hands more frequently than usual if she really thought she had a cold. 

Alice Gunderson drove home at a quarter of eleven on June 30, 1990.

Amos Johannson found her body, in the rocking chair in her living room, on July 1. The cause of death was, to use the popular vernacular, Captain Trips.


End file.
